Where were you? That fateful day on this day, September 11th, has become our generations equivalent of the JFK assassination. I would think that most of us would remember where we were and what we were doing when it happened. At the time it was all so confusing. I heard about the first plane hitting on my alarm radio when I woke up for work. I got up and turned on the news. It was being reported as a horrific unexplained accident, and a more tragic one we couldn't have anticipated. It was while watching the news that morning that I saw the second plane hit. This was no accident. I still had to go into work that morning. We had a meeting we cancelled but the branch was open and we spent the day with the television on in the lobby so that we could view the events as they unfolded. There was a solidarity that existed between everyone that day I can't even explain. Everyone had the same emotion. Nothing individual at that point mattered, we were a collective unit.
I watched the Youtube clips of the attacks again yesterday. I got the same chills again as I did when it first happened. The reactions of horror from those videotaping are just as real now as then. Many men and women never got a September 12th to start their day over. It's been 9 years but this event has shaped all of us. We've watched two wars take place from the seeds of this event. Our distrust towards other religions has grown significantly. The distrust of government and our freedoms. I think there was a period of intense recklessness that I lived in not knowing where we were headed. Seeing how we could be attacked like that exposed us and made us acknowledge our surroundings more. It made us weary.
Our world has drifted from suspicion of the government and their actions to full on conspiracy throttle. The problem with conspiracy theories always for me has been you have to take the pessimistic view on the issue. It is tough to look on the bright side of a conspiracy. It's usually the darkest scenario and even the more you dive into the issue and learn it doesn't make things any easier to swallow. There is a feeling of "what can you do", a resigned hopelessness. Yet while I do believe our society and generation tends to prefer to have their minds molded by media and spoon fed their intellect, I don't believe we can live our lives in fear and distrust. That seems to go against the principles of the same people espousing the conspiracies in the first place. There has to be an equal middle right? Everything is not black and white, is it?
Time lets us look back at events differently. The way we saw things then and the way we see them now changes. The impact of it can't be forgotten though. The soldiers who continue to put their lives on the line or have suffered the affects of war. It feels weird writing about things when you are so detached from them. I have the luxury of time and distance. I did not live in New York when this happened, nor did I serve in either of the wars that took place afterwards. I did want to serve after the attacks of 9/11 and had I not owned a condo at the time there was a very good possibility I would have enlisted. My societal need for success, my possessions, kept me out. There was no draft. I had friends and co-workers that served in Iraq and heard their first hand accounts. I did not envy them, but I respected the hell out of them.
While this day is significant in the events and how we witnessed them and experienced them, the impact is still felt today. I am appreciative of the men and women who sacrificed and continue to sacrifice for our country. Whose desire to serve protects us. I mourn for those who lost their lives in those buildings in New York, the Pentagon in Washington D.C., and that field in Pennsylvania. I mourn for our soldiers who died and suffered injuries and express immense gratitude towards those who continue to serve. I'm also grateful to live in a country that allows the freedom to disagree and protest without violent repercussions and that respects other religions and view points, because we first came to this country on the basis of religious freedom nearly 400 years ago.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Friends you don't forget
Kendra was my best friend when I was two. We would make mud pies in my front yard and sunbathe nude on my back deck. Our pale white asses reflecting the sun back to the sky. I have photo evidence. When we grew older we staged fake weddings. I wore the powder blue tux and she wore a white sun dress with a bonnet. The neighborhood kids from the block would come to her front yard to watch, one of them performing the service. We got married twice. Not sure why. I don't ever remember the divorce in between. I do know that she was a year older than me and I played with a lot more dolls between ages 2-6 than most boys ever did. I also was always the student and she the teacher when we played school. We rode our Hot Wheels bikes down the street, mine was the Incredible Hulk and she had the Dukes of Hazard. We role played the show Moonlighting. I was David and she was Maddie.
When kindergarten approached I met new friends. One of my buddies in kindergarten was Phillip. One day while in my backyard I heard voices behind my house. I looked over my fence to see Phillip and his brother Jerry playing soccer. It turns out my friend from kindergarten was also my neighbor. We became great friends. Soon I was no longer playing with the Ken doll and was playing with G.I. Joes. My friendship with Kendra was never the same. It seemed the games we used to play were no longer as fun as the games my new friends played. Kendra's family eventually moved away from next door to a town nearby and we almost lost contact completely. Phillip remained my best friend all through grade school and high school.
We both had huge goals. Even when I was in 2nd grade I was writing. I was sure that I would be writing books at some point in my life. My favorite books growing up were Encyclopedia Brown and any Hardy Boys choose your own adventure book. Phillip took up wrestling at a young age and became very good at it. While I played Little League and auditioned as a tackling dummy for Pop Warner and then freshman football I was never a star athlete. Phillip turned out to be a great high school wrestler. We both anticipated making a lot of money and would try to inspire each other to strive in our goals. I remember as sophomores we even had business cards made for one of our business ventures. We called the business Permil, which was a combination of our last names Perez and Miller. With these lame cards (they had women's lip prints on them) we started approaching women in the mall and introducing ourselves with our business cards. We would compete to see who could get the most phone numbers of girls and if they wouldn't give us theirs we'd whip out the oh-so-cool business cards and hand it to them. If we were feeling especially bold (or desperate) we'd write a little message on the back of the card before we approached them. I think we probably handed out 50 cards between us. I know I didn't get a call. I think Phillip said he did, but I seriously doubted it.
After high school I moved away to Oregon with my family. While I still maintained my friendship with Phillip and he even moved up to Oregon for a few months, we eventually grew apart. He continued his wrestling and even became almost a pioneer in mixed martial arts in California. I went to one of his fights down in Gardenia in an abandoned warehouse. This was several years before Dana White made MMA fighting lucrative, UFC was in existence but Ken Shamrock was in his prime. I last talked to Phillip in 2001. By then I had moved to Seattle.
It was in Seattle that I met my buddy Derek at Wells Fargo. He was a banker at another in-store branch and eventually we started working at the same downtown branch. We were living it up in the heyday of Kirkland. We got an apartment together and every night we hung out at either the Kirkland Pub or the Shark Club right off Lake Washington. We drank, partied, met girls (D a few more than me) and stayed up until 2 or 3 am every night. We would wake 4 hours later to head to our jobs. I don't even remember drinking coffee then. I do remember one day while in the branch Derek shot a paper clip with a rubber band from behind teller row and nailed me in the head right above my eye at my desk. It was an amazing shot across the entire branch from as far back as he was, but at the time I didn't appreciate his accuracy. In fact the branch was slow and when he hit me in the head I yelled "Mother Fucker!" You could hear the audible gasps from my supervisor and co-workers who looked over at me in horror. Derek was bursting in laughter almost falling over. Bastard.
I eventually moved out of the apartment and bought a condo, and Derek moved to downtown Seattle in the Queen Anne district. We still partied it up but now the scene was Seattle and not the Eastside. I think I fell out of a couple cabs. I know that Ozzie's and Peso's got a few bucks out of me for a few years. In 2006 I moved to Medford.
It was a tough move. While I loved the area, I knew no one. I felt very isolated. When you get older it is harder to make friends. It's definitely harder to make good friends. I stayed good buds with Derek and still visit Seattle, but not enough. In 2008 I made another great Wells Fargo compadre in Sam. Again he was working in an in-store branch. This time Phoenix and he looked about as miserable as my buddy Derek in Juanita. I know we've been through some tough and interesting times together in the two years we've been friends. He's seen me at my lowest moments and also when things seemed to be at their peak, then again when that peak seemed to collapse in an avalanche. Yet I know he's a friend I won't forget. In life we aren't guaranteed good friends. Sometimes we have them and we lose touch. Sometimes all it takes is a phone call to restore that. Sometimes they never will be. I've learned though not to look back in regret on lost friendships. Because they aren't lost at all. They are a part of us, and who we are, and who we will be. We can always look back fondly and laugh or cry, but appreciative that they were apart of our lives.
When kindergarten approached I met new friends. One of my buddies in kindergarten was Phillip. One day while in my backyard I heard voices behind my house. I looked over my fence to see Phillip and his brother Jerry playing soccer. It turns out my friend from kindergarten was also my neighbor. We became great friends. Soon I was no longer playing with the Ken doll and was playing with G.I. Joes. My friendship with Kendra was never the same. It seemed the games we used to play were no longer as fun as the games my new friends played. Kendra's family eventually moved away from next door to a town nearby and we almost lost contact completely. Phillip remained my best friend all through grade school and high school.
We both had huge goals. Even when I was in 2nd grade I was writing. I was sure that I would be writing books at some point in my life. My favorite books growing up were Encyclopedia Brown and any Hardy Boys choose your own adventure book. Phillip took up wrestling at a young age and became very good at it. While I played Little League and auditioned as a tackling dummy for Pop Warner and then freshman football I was never a star athlete. Phillip turned out to be a great high school wrestler. We both anticipated making a lot of money and would try to inspire each other to strive in our goals. I remember as sophomores we even had business cards made for one of our business ventures. We called the business Permil, which was a combination of our last names Perez and Miller. With these lame cards (they had women's lip prints on them) we started approaching women in the mall and introducing ourselves with our business cards. We would compete to see who could get the most phone numbers of girls and if they wouldn't give us theirs we'd whip out the oh-so-cool business cards and hand it to them. If we were feeling especially bold (or desperate) we'd write a little message on the back of the card before we approached them. I think we probably handed out 50 cards between us. I know I didn't get a call. I think Phillip said he did, but I seriously doubted it.
After high school I moved away to Oregon with my family. While I still maintained my friendship with Phillip and he even moved up to Oregon for a few months, we eventually grew apart. He continued his wrestling and even became almost a pioneer in mixed martial arts in California. I went to one of his fights down in Gardenia in an abandoned warehouse. This was several years before Dana White made MMA fighting lucrative, UFC was in existence but Ken Shamrock was in his prime. I last talked to Phillip in 2001. By then I had moved to Seattle.
It was in Seattle that I met my buddy Derek at Wells Fargo. He was a banker at another in-store branch and eventually we started working at the same downtown branch. We were living it up in the heyday of Kirkland. We got an apartment together and every night we hung out at either the Kirkland Pub or the Shark Club right off Lake Washington. We drank, partied, met girls (D a few more than me) and stayed up until 2 or 3 am every night. We would wake 4 hours later to head to our jobs. I don't even remember drinking coffee then. I do remember one day while in the branch Derek shot a paper clip with a rubber band from behind teller row and nailed me in the head right above my eye at my desk. It was an amazing shot across the entire branch from as far back as he was, but at the time I didn't appreciate his accuracy. In fact the branch was slow and when he hit me in the head I yelled "Mother Fucker!" You could hear the audible gasps from my supervisor and co-workers who looked over at me in horror. Derek was bursting in laughter almost falling over. Bastard.
I eventually moved out of the apartment and bought a condo, and Derek moved to downtown Seattle in the Queen Anne district. We still partied it up but now the scene was Seattle and not the Eastside. I think I fell out of a couple cabs. I know that Ozzie's and Peso's got a few bucks out of me for a few years. In 2006 I moved to Medford.
It was a tough move. While I loved the area, I knew no one. I felt very isolated. When you get older it is harder to make friends. It's definitely harder to make good friends. I stayed good buds with Derek and still visit Seattle, but not enough. In 2008 I made another great Wells Fargo compadre in Sam. Again he was working in an in-store branch. This time Phoenix and he looked about as miserable as my buddy Derek in Juanita. I know we've been through some tough and interesting times together in the two years we've been friends. He's seen me at my lowest moments and also when things seemed to be at their peak, then again when that peak seemed to collapse in an avalanche. Yet I know he's a friend I won't forget. In life we aren't guaranteed good friends. Sometimes we have them and we lose touch. Sometimes all it takes is a phone call to restore that. Sometimes they never will be. I've learned though not to look back in regret on lost friendships. Because they aren't lost at all. They are a part of us, and who we are, and who we will be. We can always look back fondly and laugh or cry, but appreciative that they were apart of our lives.
Monday, September 6, 2010
That wedding thing..aka "The Big Show"
Last night I had a dream about a wedding, my wedding. The church was filled with people the bride was waiting and I did not have a tux. I was completely under dressed for the event and one of my groomsmen Terry, my brother-in-law, had a tux but wouldn't lend me his. He said to just go out in what I was wearing. I scavenged through a bedroom closet looking for anything that resembled a tuxedo. I woke up before I got my conclusion. Maybe I've seen too many Facebook wedding pictures, or maybe something else is at work here. And why did I already see the bride out there waiting?
I've always thought marriage was an institution I couldn't get behind. The big charade with photos. It seemed like a way to gather people you see once in five, ten, fifteen years to celebrate a union that the state now says is official. As if your love for that person wasn't real enough until you put on the show. I've seen the shows and I've watched them not work out for people close to me, so I wondered what the big deal was all about. I honestly felt that it was not for me. That I would never marry, and possibly never find that woman to marry. The idea that marriage is any harder than it was 30, 40, or 50 years ago is an excuse I give myself to support this reasoning.
I've heard the stories of friends who were or are married and they didn't sound promising. Many of them bitched and moaned about there situations and how they wish they could still be single. I took that to heart as a first hand account of marriage. The older I get though I realize I didn't make these observations myself. They were second hand stories from people who may not even have felt the way they expressed. They had their "big show" and their own first hand accounts of what went wrong. Or maybe it's human nature to hold on to our independant spirit even after we are joined in matrimony. Maybe that wishful thinking is that voice being heard.
I never understood why so many women clamored for their wedding days. To me it just seemed like it was an opportunity for them to get dressed up in a fancy gown and be the center of attention for a day. That was my cynical belief on their desires. Then I realized that the true desire is hope. Weddings are the last truly hopeful event for many people to attend to. It's an optimistic event filled with promise that inspires people. Maybe this will last. Maybe they will live happily ever after. The wedding is a public viewing of their commitment to each other. I get that. Even if I believe that people jump too soon, or wrongfully, into marriages who am I to pass judgement. I open up more to a blog in internet land then I did to a woman who I was with for a year and a half of my life. My walls to protect myself were so thick that when it all ended I didn't even realize that it had been like this for months.
I sat last night in my hot tub. The tiki torches were waving in the breeze. The gorgeous stars were above me. I had a very tasty cold Corona in my hand. My lap top was sitting nearby playing music from my Itunes. First it was some up beat Michael Jackson "Rock with You" but then it drifted to some Otis Redding "These Arms of Mine" and "Pain in my Heart" and finally that damn Eric Carmen song "All by Myself." Why have I not deleted this song already?! This is a lonely existence, the solo journey. I always thought I needed to be somewhere and be someONE before I could marry someone. I have goals and visions of where my life is supposed to be but as the years pass and the goals aren't realized when do I create a life that is fulfilling. Maybe someone in my life would inspire me to achieve these goals. I don't know. I woke up this morning and knew I had to blog this but now that I have it's all the more depressing. Not really an upbeat Labor Day weekend message. So let me see if I can tie it up all together here at the end.
Labor Day was established for workers in 1882 and became a federal holiday in 1894. We celebrate it as the end of Summer. Marriage is work. It's a beautiful union between two people who have to work to sustain it. It makes the journey of life a little less lonesome and maybe even helps them become better individuals in the process. While summer ends and fall and winter begins the holidays approach. Nothing sucks more than being single for the holidays. Yeah how is that for an upbeat send off?
I've always thought marriage was an institution I couldn't get behind. The big charade with photos. It seemed like a way to gather people you see once in five, ten, fifteen years to celebrate a union that the state now says is official. As if your love for that person wasn't real enough until you put on the show. I've seen the shows and I've watched them not work out for people close to me, so I wondered what the big deal was all about. I honestly felt that it was not for me. That I would never marry, and possibly never find that woman to marry. The idea that marriage is any harder than it was 30, 40, or 50 years ago is an excuse I give myself to support this reasoning.
I've heard the stories of friends who were or are married and they didn't sound promising. Many of them bitched and moaned about there situations and how they wish they could still be single. I took that to heart as a first hand account of marriage. The older I get though I realize I didn't make these observations myself. They were second hand stories from people who may not even have felt the way they expressed. They had their "big show" and their own first hand accounts of what went wrong. Or maybe it's human nature to hold on to our independant spirit even after we are joined in matrimony. Maybe that wishful thinking is that voice being heard.
I never understood why so many women clamored for their wedding days. To me it just seemed like it was an opportunity for them to get dressed up in a fancy gown and be the center of attention for a day. That was my cynical belief on their desires. Then I realized that the true desire is hope. Weddings are the last truly hopeful event for many people to attend to. It's an optimistic event filled with promise that inspires people. Maybe this will last. Maybe they will live happily ever after. The wedding is a public viewing of their commitment to each other. I get that. Even if I believe that people jump too soon, or wrongfully, into marriages who am I to pass judgement. I open up more to a blog in internet land then I did to a woman who I was with for a year and a half of my life. My walls to protect myself were so thick that when it all ended I didn't even realize that it had been like this for months.
I sat last night in my hot tub. The tiki torches were waving in the breeze. The gorgeous stars were above me. I had a very tasty cold Corona in my hand. My lap top was sitting nearby playing music from my Itunes. First it was some up beat Michael Jackson "Rock with You" but then it drifted to some Otis Redding "These Arms of Mine" and "Pain in my Heart" and finally that damn Eric Carmen song "All by Myself." Why have I not deleted this song already?! This is a lonely existence, the solo journey. I always thought I needed to be somewhere and be someONE before I could marry someone. I have goals and visions of where my life is supposed to be but as the years pass and the goals aren't realized when do I create a life that is fulfilling. Maybe someone in my life would inspire me to achieve these goals. I don't know. I woke up this morning and knew I had to blog this but now that I have it's all the more depressing. Not really an upbeat Labor Day weekend message. So let me see if I can tie it up all together here at the end.
Labor Day was established for workers in 1882 and became a federal holiday in 1894. We celebrate it as the end of Summer. Marriage is work. It's a beautiful union between two people who have to work to sustain it. It makes the journey of life a little less lonesome and maybe even helps them become better individuals in the process. While summer ends and fall and winter begins the holidays approach. Nothing sucks more than being single for the holidays. Yeah how is that for an upbeat send off?
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